


Detention, Fighting, and Other Romantic Acts

by Theconsultingdetective



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Brief Violence, Fluff, Kissing, M/M, badboy!Dean, coffee dates, cuteness, highschool!au, nerd!cas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-14
Updated: 2014-08-14
Packaged: 2018-02-13 03:55:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,892
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2136075
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Theconsultingdetective/pseuds/Theconsultingdetective
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean believes a well-placed punch can make a strange, quiet boy fall head over heels for him. He is not wrong.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Detention, Fighting, and Other Romantic Acts

 "Fuck off," Dean demanded, eyes narrowed as he stepped between Castiel and the quarterback.  
"Why should I?" he replied, moving even closer until he was right in Dean's face.  
"Cause I only ask nice once. Now fuck. Off." Castiel gathered up his books, wiped the trickle of blood from his nose, and didn't move from his spot behind Dean, partly because of the wall on one side and the protective and tense body on the other. He wasn't a fighter, not physically, at least. Not like the Winchester boys. But then again, nobody was like the Winchester boys.  
"What're you gonna do, huh? Stupid faggo-" and then there was a gut-wrenching crack of bone as Dean's clenched fist-thumb on the outside, knuckles sharp and jagged, method perfected from unwanted practice-shot through the air and sailed into Castiel's assailant's jaw. 

"You should probably go," Dean advised Castiel casually, as though he was not currently beating up a thoroughly deserving individual. "Principal's gonna be here soon. Don't wanna get-" the quarterback, reeling, threw a punch at Dean, who dodged it and kneed him in the stomach without dropping the thread of their conversation for a second, "-you in trouble." Castiel shook his head.  
"I don't care. This is amusing," he answered. He was a good kid, sure. Went to church, prayed, sang the hymns and gave to the needy, but not much was as satisfying as watching the shit get kicked out of someone who dearly deserved it as much as Michael Morningstar, Colt High quarterback. Dean chuckled and punched Michael again, this time colliding fist-against-nose with a painful splitting sound.  
"Yeah, it's even more fun to do," Dean replied. "You think he knows better yet?" he asked Castiel over his shoulder. Castiel paused, as though considering his response, although he knew the answer.  
"I am unconvinced," he replied, smirking. Dean laughed again, not winded in the slightest by the fight. The quarterback charged him like a rhinoceros and, instead of trying to stand still against his attack, Dean (wisely) let him shove him to the ground, 200 pounds of spite and malice collapsing on top of him. His knee connected with the attacker's crotch and the boy made an almost pitiable noise. Castiel would've felt for him, if not for the blood tricking from his own nose like it had so many times before and the words "dumbass cocksucker freak" still ringing through his ears. Dean easily managed to shove the quarterback off of him, flopping over to one side onto his back like a rag doll. Castiel helped Dean to his feet again, getting blood (who's, it was impossible to tell) on his hands and not caring whatsoever. He smiled at him only for a second before returning his attention to the fallen assailant.

"When I tell you to fuck off, Morningstar," he growled, putting his foot in the centre of the other teenager's chest, "I mean fuck off. Got that?" The boy just sneered, so Dean pressed more on the foot pinning him to the ground. "Got that, you asshole?" he asked again, more coarsely. Michael nodded this time, eyes closed.  
"We gonna have this problem again?" Dean asked, coming off like a parent or teacher reprimanding a child, but with a specifically wicked edge. Michael shook his head, groaning in pain.  
"Good." Dean removed his foot from his chest and dusted off his hands, knuckles bloodied. "See you in the principal's office, Mikey," he grinned triumphantly, turning back to Castiel. 

"Now then, I don't think we met. I'm Dean, but you can call me "my hero" if you want." Castiel smiled.  
"My hero," he replied, wiping the blood from his nose with his thumb.  
"Attaboy," Dean smirked back. "C'mon, we might as well head over to the principal's office, huh? Figure we'll get sent there soon enough."  
"I've never been," Castiel informed him. Dean laughed.  
"Yeah, I have a feeling you're about to do a whole lotta things you've never done," he answered with a raise of his eyebrows. Eager, Castiel followed him inside, through the glass doors of the high school, thinking about just what things Dean may have been referring to. 

"Remind me what I'm supposed to be doing here again?" Cas' note read. Dean chuckled and shook his head at Cas across the library table. Under the watchful eye of vice principal Zachariah, Dean and Cas were serving their detention, along with the various other troublemakers of the school. Ruby Morningstar and Meg Masters, troublemaking duo, best friends (and, allegedly, more,) sat at another table, trading looks and notes and plans of world domination. Also in reluctant attendance was Chuck Shurley, caught for possession of narcotics on campus. Missing from the group of offenders was Michael Morningstar, the original perpetrator. He was saddled only with a lunch detention, much to Dean and Cas' very vocal dismay. 

Dean turned the note over. "This," he wrote, then tucked it into Cas' palm under the table. He unfolded it and wrote his reply, passing it back.  
"Boring. How do you _do_ it, Dean?"  
"I manage. It's not so bad, once you get used to it." And Dean sure was used to it. He was trouble, sure as the day was long, but Cas didn't mind it. He almost liked it, really, liked the way his mother sat across from him at dinner the night before, the night after the fight, and said, "That Winchester boy, he's nothing but bad luck and fists all wrapped up." He liked the way his brothers and sisters whispered about him that night as they cleaned the kitchen, and most of all he liked Dean Winchester. 

"I've never been in detention before," Cas wrote. They'd broken out a full-sized sheet of notebook paper, folded up small so it'd be easy to pass back and forth.  
"I figured."  
"You, on the other hand..." Dean filled in the blank place beside the ellipses.  
"I know. I'm no good."  
"Why?"  
"Cause it's fun. Why does anyone do anything?" This seemed to confuse Cas; he looked down at the paper and shrugged.  
"Because they must?" Cas answered. Dean quirked an eyebrow.  
"Is that why you do what you do?"  
"What is it that I do?"  
"Good question." Cas furrowed his eyebrows and dropped the pen, an expansive pause spreading between them. Dean tore off another piece of paper.  
"I feel like I'm being a little pissy," he wrote, then handed it over to him, under the table. Cas cracked a smile.  
"You feel correctly." Dean chuckled.  
"Sorry." He paused, then added, "I was supposed to spend today with my brother. Kinda fell through."  
"I'm sorry."  
"For what?"  
"You didn't have to fight Michael off for me."  
"I wanted to. I pride myself on my giving spirit." Cas chuckled and looked over the table at Dean, who smiled, much to Zachariah's irritation.  
"Why does he hate you so much?" Cas asked.  
"Because he's jealous," Dean wrote back, smirking as he set the note on Cas' knee, making his muscles tense. He raised his eyebrows, smugly smiling, and wrote on another piece of paper. "A little jumpy?"  
"Butterflies," Cas replied. Dean's self-satisfied smile widened.  
"Why?" Chuckling, Cas wrote back.  
"Don't get too excited, Dean. They're incidental."  
"Sure they are."

They sat quietly for a while, Cas still in possession of the folded paper. Eventually, he writes, "Would you object to a post-detention coffee?" Dean puts that shit-eating grin back and replies,  
"Aha. Called it."  
"What did you call?" Cas writes back with a roll of his eyes.  
"Butterflies. Called it."  
"Dean, if you're going to behave that way-" Cas wrote, but Dean snatched his paper away before he could even argue.  
"Right after this. The Ugly Mug on 39th. I'll drive," he wrote, then set the paper high up on his thigh, making him blush. Instead of writing back, he just nodded, smiling. 

Zachariah was not a fan of smiling, especially not a fan of Dean smiling. So he stormed right over with that patronising grin that reeked of bullshit and plucked the paper out of Cas' hands.  
"Scheduling a date, boys?" he teased. Dean set his jaw, and if he'd been a dog his hackles would have been up to _here_ , no question.  
"You don't know shit," he replied.  
"Dean-" Cas said gently, all eyes on the trio.  
"No. You know what, you wanna haul off and poke around into our private lives? That's fine. We got nothing to hide."  
"That's brazen, Mr. Winchester. I may just take you up on it." Dean set his jaw and stared him down. "You go right ahead." He turned to Cas. "I'm getting outta here, Cas. You comin' or what?" Cas stood to follow.  
"Of course," he agreed, giving Zachariah an icy stare. Dean tugged him out of the library by the wrist, to the angry shouts of Zachariah at his back. 

The two of them make it out to the car and drive for ten minutes to get well and truly away from the school. They pull out into a field, Dean's hands white-knuckled on the wheel.  
"Were you really up for that?" he asked finally, looking over at Cas. He nodded, meaning it entirely.  
"Truthfully, I would hardly have thought on my own, but I'm glad we did it." He paused and looked at his hands. "Regardless of that, though, I would never have left you. You know that." Dean quirked an eyebrow.  
"Dude," he replied plainly. "You've known me for what, two days? And already you're pledging your loyalty to me?"  
"Are you complaining?" Cas asked with a small smile.  
"Hell no," Dean chuckled. "I'm...you know. A pretty big fan of you, too."  
"Oh. Uh, I mean, thank you." An undeniable blush crept over Cas' cheeks.  
"No problem," Dean replied softly, lifting his eyes from where they'd adhered themselves to Cas' lips. Which is when Cas did possibly the cutest, most adorable thing in his life. 

"Is there something on my lips?" he asked innocently, turning slightly to look in the rearview. Dean burst into laughter, catching him by the arm and stopping him.  
"You're not too big on social cues, huh?" he asked good naturedly. Cas tilted his head.  
"I'm not sure I understand," he muttered. Dean smiled and reached over, drawing Cas nearer.  
"Let me show you," he murmured, then slowly pressed their lips together. Cas was taken aback at first, though much to Dean's relief he didn't pull away. After a moment their lips were meshed together, slotted like puzzle pieces, working with and against each other with little darts of tongues and hums and content sighs. Dean managed to keep his wandering hands above the belt, to go slow with Cas, even if he is desperate and needy, even if he has been since day 1 of school, when Cas couldn't open his locker door and he unjammed with a strong whack from the side of his fist and a satisfied smirk. He set a hand on Cas' waist and the other at the back of his neck, tilting his head to one side. Cas smiled into his mouth, running a hand down his chest and sucking gently at his lip.  
"Still on for coffee?" Dean breathed, pulling back just millimetres from Cas' reddened lips.  
"Absolutely," Cas smiled, and leant in for another eager kiss.

**Author's Note:**

> This is completed for nothing-tra-la-lala ([tumblr here](http://nothing-tra-lala.tumblr.com))


End file.
